


Fever Dream

by cuntoid



Category: Sad Sack (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal, Cum Swallowing, Dick riding, High Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Sweat, blowjob, friends fucking around, just buddy things, pot smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25768510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Jake and Malik get stoned on a summer day.
Relationships: Jake Martin/Malik Umberter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Fever Dream

**Author's Note:**

> big fat thank you to Nick for letting me play with these nasty men for a while. hope you enjoy ::)))

Malik focuses his burning, dry eyes on the TV screen. He may as well be staring at a wall. Visual information comes through the useless lenses and gets lost in the vitreous wasteland behind them, falling just short of comprehension. His brain fuzzes over with smoke, curling tendrils rising up in the room. Jake speaks in his low, comforting voice with his warm thigh against his own and there’s a faint, urgent pulse in the core of Malik’s guts, deep in the dark, slippery meat, spreading warmth throughout him. Something about fire being where the smoke is.

He says something – that much, he’s sure, and his voice falls flat to his own ears. Jake lounges beside him and only seems to sink further into the couch, transfixed by the screen and completely oblivious to Malik’s internal shrieking or his piss-poor joke. The smile on Jake’s face is so easy that he could get lost in it, just happy to be seeing it.

“Mal, you’re hitting it too hard. Spacing.”

“Nah, I’m good! I’m good. Swear.”

“You don’t look too good. Look like you’re having a... like, you know. An episode.”

“Thanks, _Dad_ , I’m good.”

“Isn’t that your department? The Daddy shit?”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Malik laughs a big, goofy laugh, straight from his belly, and Jake follows suit. “You’re not lying, though.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, a pocket of ease that pulls Malik out of the tinny headspace of panic and into a cozy buzz, heavy and sweet as the humid summer day. Even sweating feels nice; if Malik were interested in being completely honest with himself, he’d admit that he can smell Jake and his clean scent, the sweat of his body sweet and inviting. He readjusts himself on the couch and Jake responds by leaning more of his weight against him. Lazy cuddling is nothing new, not really. Jake loosely referring to Malik as DADDY, however, bounces around his skull. There isn’t a cluster of suns in the known universe that matches the blaze around that neon-lit word. It festers. _Daddy, daddy, daddy._ Looping around the soft, hot meat of his brain, each pass becoming a little whinier, a little more desperate.

The real desperation comes when Malik’s dick starts throbbing. The weed knocks him on his ass; gravity drags every inch of him toward some unseen black hole, like his body is nanoseconds away from stretching down into the void like so much fleshy taffy. Jake tilts his head over at Mal and they lock eyes, and for a moment he’s paranoid Jake can smell it on him, but he only wears his coy smile, peers through his glasses once they’re dutifully pushed up the bridge of his nose. 

“Feeling good?”

“Really good. I feel fucking great.”

It’s not a lie. Panic bleeds away to make room for the perverse excitement of being hard next to Jake, next to him while he’s sweaty and grinning and he absentmindedly licks a tooth while he’s thinking. 

“I do too. I feel kind of intense, actually. Listen, Mal...”

In the space of the beat after Jake says his name, Mal knows that there isn’t a black hole, after all. Just Jake. It takes every ounce of strength to keep his shaky fingers clenched at his side instead of reaching out to pet him, squeeze him through his jeans until Jake’s pulse matches his own against the palm of his hand. 

“Uh huh.”

“Well, you know... how do I start. You know I’m not – ”

“ _Yeah_.”

“– not, uh... that I’m not really g –”

“ _Mmhm?_ ”

Jake huffs, straightening his spine and fiddling with glasses that need no adjusting. Malik waves his hands in shame, a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. _Sorry sorry sorry! Sorry bro! Shit, I’m clumsy, go ahead, really, tell me. C’mon. I’ll shut up._ Words pour nervously from the font of his lips. He’d rather be whispering them into his ear, or moaning them into his shoulder. His temples pulse. Jake has a brief, knowing smile, a hint of it, sweet as spring rain and twice as refreshing. 

It’s Jake’s turn to fidget. It’s not necessarily nerves that get him – it’s finding the words, the right words. _Hey bro, I’m not gay, buuut...._

Inside his jeans – stupid, dirty, old jeans, shorts with holes throughout the crotch, poorly stitched by Jake’s otherwise nimble fingers – there’s an outline. A hint, beckoning Malik with each weak pulse underneath the denim. There’s a phantom sensation over his lips and he bites them, the feeling of all that old, worn fabric running over them as he ghosts his breath over Jake’s clothed cock in his mind. Feeling it jump and pulse, hearing his breathy little moans. He’s played this out so many times in his fantasy. He’s seen and heard Jake aroused over the many years of their intimate friendship, but at his behest? The moment’s too rare to pass up. It’s surreal, as momentous as the full, burning corona around a true eclipse. It singes at the edges of his flesh like he might fall apart if he doesn’t touch Jake, if he doesn’t pursue his friend’s pleasure like it’s his greatest mission. Like coming to the holy land. 

“Mal... what’re ya thinking about?”

Inside Jake’s smile, the gap between his teeth is the only thing yanking Malik’s eyes from burning a hole through his buddy’s jeans. The bruises they might make, delicate little ones in a broken curve; Jake bucking back into him until there’s sweat dripping down the knobs of his spine; holding his thighs apart and lapping him balls to cockslit until he’s crying and begging. That’s what he’s thinking about. He thinks Jake would be great at begging. A professional. He probably whines like he’s going to die without it. Malik sits absolutely still, knowing full well he might blow his goddamn load right there against his thigh in these tight fucking pants if he shifts around too much. His cock hurts. He wants to hurt Jake with it. Just a little bit. 

“Thinking about a lot,” he mumbles. His teeth clink and click against the rings in his lips. Jake laughs a little, cheeks pink, and shrugs a shoulder. Customary. So absolutely normal for them that, for one heartbreaking second, Malik is convinced this is all in his head, that it’s nothing more than time stopping in his brain to allow for this delusional fantasy to stretch out into the universe, flimsy as a prayer. Jake nudges him again with that shoulder.

“Tell me. Don’t make me beg for it.”

Malik holds his breath. It’d be so easy to make a joke about it, so natural, but it doesn’t come. It stays on the tip of his tongue and dissolves into nothing. He swallows it back like he’s been gulping this entire time, gulping back words, drool, his own burning intentions, and it sends the butterflies in his guts into a frenzy. Heartbeat in his temples, he watches Jake slide off the couch, unmistakably palming the lump in his jeans.

Jake’s sweating. 

“Or...” he licks the edges of his teeth, laughing under his own breath. “ _or_ , maybe I _could_ beg. Is that it, Mal?”

Jake slides his hands up over Malik’s thighs and he melts back into the dingy couch. The strength leaves him in a dizzying rush, all the way down his legs and through his feet. Motionless. 

“Jake...” What he aims for is stern. What comes out falls somewhere between audibly fuck-hungry and desperate. “You know you don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to _beg?_ ” His thumbs inch up Malik’s thighs, all that muscular flesh quaking under his hands. He rubs his cheek against one of those thighs, turning that coy smile inward to press at the bulge straining there. His cock jumps under the damp, hot wash of Jake’s breath and he moans. “Please, Mal? _Please?_ ”

“Fuck. Jesus fuckin’ _Christ_ , dude.”

Jake licks at the fabric until it’s wet, drooling down his chin. The sound of the TV in the background melts into a nondescript buzzing. Traffic outside is a million miles away. Civilization ends, the world collapses, and the stars burn out, and all that’s left in the glaring void is Jake on his knees, Jake making him want to cum his fucking pants. Time doesn’t speed up and it doesn’t slow down, it only ceases to exist like the rest. 

“ _Come on_. Come on, it’s been a while for the both of us. Just friends feeling good. Fuck it. Mal,” he mumbles, “I _really_ want it.”

At first, his fingers shake. They shake all the way down until they’re petting through Jake’s sweaty hair, until he has what he can gather between his knuckles and tugs him tighter, closer. 

“Been thinkin about it?” 

Blood roars through every inch of his body, burning up just under his flesh. Maybe the TV isn’t even on anymore. Maybe he fell asleep stoned on the couch and this is a fever-dream, brought on by the heat of the season and the smell of Jake. The man between his thighs reaches up for Malik’s zipper and scoffs, as if that’s good enough of an answer – and it _is._ It’s enough. It’s happening. 

By the time his cock is out, he’s already sloppy; spit on his chin, Jake licks a wet stripe from the seam of his balls to his slit, and Malik forgets how to breathe. With a grace borne of practice, he sinks down his cock, tongue flattened against the rippled flesh driving into the back of his throat. The urge to jerk his hips forward and hold him there is powerful enough that he has to sit on his hands, releasing Jake from the tight confines of his fingers in his hair. He moans as Malik prods back behind the tongue, into that hot, fleshy, twitching hole back there, and he wonders faintly if Jake’s gag reflex is bad. The thought of Jake working so hard to make Malik cum that he vomits into his lap dangles back behind a curtain in his mind, a flimsy panel struggling to keep his blacker thoughts at bay. They drip through like ichor. They fill up behind his eyeballs until they’re hot and fuzzy, toes curling inside the steel toes of his boots. Maybe Jake can lick those next.

The reflex is there, but Jake’s control is remarkable. Malik pets his hair as the tendons in his buddy’s throat go taut, unable to keep them restrained any longer, and there’s a pause, a swallow and release of tension, and all that flesh squeezing Malik’s cock ripples comfortably again. 

“Good with your tongue,” he sighs. The bong sit abandoned next to them, next to Jake, and he reaches down gingerly to lift it above his friend’s head without incident. As he fumbles around the couch cushion to locate the lighter, Jake hums a laugh that Malik feels all the way into his balls. He bucks up and it’s met with expert anticipation. “ _Fuck_... oh, _fuck_ , I’m not gunna last long, here.”

A siren goes by outside. It’s loud and distant all at once, like through a long, dark tunnel. Emergency vehicles rush by after it with their own wails, and Malik feels a kinship with them as a whine escapes his chest. He’s been holding his breath. His fingers crawl on their own through the couch cushions and hit home, curling around an old Bic and prizing it from its hiding spot. Hands shaking, he holds the bong up against his chest and fires the bowl. Lungs full of smoke, he holds it in as long as he possibly can, until the meat of his lungs constrict and panic and his stomach flutters with the giddiness of oxygen loss. 

Jake follows him into breathlessness, opening his throat until he can bounce the head of Malik’s dick deep back there, swathed in wet pink flesh, saliva dripping over his messy lips and all the way down to Malik’s balls. One hand around his cock, one playing lower, lower, slick and running his fingers around until he beckons against the perineum. Smoke snakes out from Malik’s nostrils and he sighs it out before gulping in clean air, lungfuls of it just to expend it all over again in his moaning. It’s cute. It’s so fucking cute it makes Jake fidget on his knees, rolling his hips just so to get any friction in his jeans. It’s his best friend with his name on his lips, it’s his closest bud, and the overwhelming safety and ease of pleasuring him makes Jake ache. 

Malik lifts the bong again and drags deep. He gestures for Jake to lift up, lips swollen, and he leans down with a hand secured around the back of his head to guide him. The blond opens his mouth up nice and pretty, teeth gleaming, and accepts the kiss, accepts the thick stream of smoke funneling into his own lungs from Malik’s. 

His eyes feel heavy and hot. He gazes up at his gorgeous friend and how red his eyes are. He looks deranged. He’s a little wilder looking as he puts the bong aside, taking both hands to guide Jake back down to his dick. 

“Ready?” 

There’s never been a more loaded question, a heavier word spoken. Malik looks like he could eat him alive. 

He doesn’t give Jake a real chance to reply; it’s too hard to stare at him like this, all blissed out and fuck-hungry and red, so he hooks a thumb into Jake’s mouth and encourages him to open up wide, _wider, c’mon, wider for Daddy_ , and slaps his cock down on Jake’s tongue. A sound comes up from Jake’s throat and Malik’s brain shuts off. He’s all heat, all shaking muscle and throbbing cock. A map of boiling veins and HUNGER. 

The back of his throat’s a welcome place to return to. He grinds his hips slowly up, gauging his friend’s comfort. Jake makes it a point to gag and swallow, gag and swallow, to force Malik deeper, and how can he not oblige? How can he avoid digging his fingers into Jake’s hair and fucking his face until he can feel the button-tip of his nose against the stubble of pubic hair at the base? 

“You’re so good at this – fuck! Oh FUCK.” All around Jake’s head, Malik exists. Cock in throat, fingers in his hair, and strong, powerful thighs clenching around his ears, trapping him until he’s sure he’ll pass out there. It wouldn’t be the worst place to be, surrounded in Malik. The pulsing gets harder, lasts longer, and they both know he’s about to cum. “ _Ready? Ready for me to f-fuck – to fuckinngg... fiiilll yooouu uupp? Ready for Daddy?_ ”

Jake slips a hand away from Malik to reach down, desperate to unzip, to stroke off while Malik cums – every shift brings attention to the growing wet spot in his underwear, to the fact that he remains largely untouched. Just used, just made to be fucked, and oh he wants to _cum he wants to cum SO fuckin bad oh god oh my GOD_ –

Malik kicks his hand away.

“ _NO_.”

He’s so tight and tensed, every single nerve screaming as the first tingles of release wash over him. Jake’s cheeks feel so hot between his thighs. He fucks his mouth so gently, so mercifully. It’s a mercy that he doesn’t suffocate him right here, pump him full of cum til it’s dripping out of his nostrils, til his warm warm face is cold as clay and turning blue. Somewhere behind the first violent spurt creeps guilt, a spectre that vanishes as soon as his cock pumps another rope into Jake’s belly. 

His own throat closes against the ground, ruined moans escaping his lungs. Even after he loosens his thighs, submitting to the full glow of post-orgasmic bliss, Jake milks every last drop. He sucks, licks and strokes until Malik’s arching his spine and pushing him back by the forehead. There’s a persistent throb under his flesh. It crawls to a slow from its previous rapidfire pace, like his cells had been trying to burn holes up through the pores to escape and flicker out, happy in some primordial way to have existed at all. Malik looks at Jake and his slimy lips, the choked tear-tracks still visible down his pink cheeks as he finally pulls away, and the shy grin on his face makes him think, _yeah, I could die right now. Could die right now and be all right._

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Hmm?” Jake sits up straight, reaching up to the ceiling until his spine pops in one clean zip. “Sorry for what?”

“The quick bust.” 

“I’ve seen quicker, I think. I’m honestly impressed you held out so long.”

“Fuck off.” Malik cracks up, body loose as jelly as he sinks back into the couch. Jake follows him, rising up like all the haze in the room. He crawls up into Malik’s lap, toying with his hair, looking absolutely shameful. His cheeks burn and his dick pokes up against his palm, still faithfully separated by layers of jean and cotton. 

“So...”

“ _So_ ,” Malik says, and the word stretches on in the room. Everything is slow and easy. Jake’s rocking thighs are easy, grabbing his waist is easy. He grinds up with his useless cock and still it’s so fucking easy to want him, to coax his thumbs into Jake’s pants so he’s inclined to peel them down his thighs until he climbs on bottomless. Jake’s dick bounces between their bellies as he adjusts and it takes every instinct to let him settle and not to grab it, to jerk him off so he cums hot and wet against Malik’s belly. The word belly barely fits – lifting Mal’s shirt would only reveal firm, defined flesh, and the thought of dragging the slippery head of his cock into the dips and valleys of his fit flesh drives Jake insane. 

“You gunna fuck me?”

“Jesus, Jake!” Malik laughs so hard his head falls back, the cords in his throat so painfully inviting that Jake runs a finger over them, tracing down into the damp hollow of his clavicle. Malik shivers and his hips speak for him once again, despite the fleshly curse of refractory periods. Jake plants a tiny peck on his chin and he looks down at his friend, his goofy, idiot smile, and there’s a real tenderness in kissing his mouth, tasting himself on Jake’s tongue. “I _want_ to. I _wanna_ , but... I also wanna suck your dick.”

“Eloquent.”

“You’ve fucked up my whole... you know... my words,” he laughs, and Jake makes to sit up and stretch. His shirt, the threadbare trash that it is, clings to the slats of his ribcage as he reaches up, up, up, like a cat, shuddering back into relaxing. He’s beautiful. 

“Kay, that’s cool.” There’s a peek of pink tongue between the gap in his teeth and Malik wonders if he can’t get it up, after all. “But – hey, can we pause for a sec?”

“Yeah, dude, whatever. Take a break.”

“Well, actually – I’m _really_ ready to go, just... wanna grab somethin’. I like to kinda... feel full, so... if you’re not gunna fuck it for me, I gotta go grab a plug real quick.”

In Malik’s mind, images fly across the backs of his eyelids in a phantasmic spread of filth, picturing Jake moaning and whining and bucking into his mouth while his ass is stuffed full with some toy. He wants to be fucked – he wants it so bad he won’t cum without it. Underneath Jake, Malik is already getting hard again. There’s an invisible chorus swelling inside of him, like God and Satan and all the powers in the known universes and deepest pits of despair know that Malik will regret not fucking Jake within an inch of his life atop his strong thighs.

Jake wriggles a little, pushing against that sudden pressure. From the coffee table, Jake grabs a bottle of lube, and Malik’s expression becomes strained before it dissolves into laughter so intense he’s crying, dick throbbing and almost sore with it, jumping with each belly laugh. 

“Do you j-just – you just _keep_ that there?!”

“You didn’t notice it?”

“NO!”

“This whole time?” Jake shakes his head as he opens the cap, and suddenly Malik has other things to focus on, other tasks to possibly help his buddy with. “Fuckin’ space case.”

Malik’s got the lube out of Jake’s hands and squirting over his fingers, thick, slick, and then it’s all about the gentle work of easing him open. Any concern over his dick not staying hard long enough for Jake has all but vanished – it’s hard to concentrate with one hand fingerfucking him and the other switching between their cocks. Jake’s arched back a little to ease Malik’s digital passage, and their dicks pulse in the open-fingered grip of the other. Are his hands really shaking? Delirium rears its head in the form of more circular thoughts, recurring suspicions that he’s completely unconscious and he’ll snap awake with a wet spot and Jake pointedly ignoring it. He’s going to snap back to reality and realize he’s been immersed in the most vivid daydream of his life. He watches Jake whimper a little and it’s like tunnel vision; every single thing around them disintegrates, melts into a meaningless blur that only serves to house their purpose.

“Feel good?”

“ _Yeahh_...” 

“We should fit more in there, right? You gunna ask?”

“ _Oh, ff_ — come on, just... I’m _dying_ , here.”

Jake aims for a scoff and instead sighs, trembles as Malik flexes his fingers a little. Malik smiles at him, a kind smile, soft, eyes soft, everything warm. 

“ _You are gunna have to ask REALLY fucking nice_.”

“Please.”

“Please _what_. Be specific for Daddy.”

Jake ruts against Malik, all flushed and wet and squelching over his fingers like some disgusting slut, and either of them could cum just like this. But why limit oneself? 

“ _PLEEAAAAASE FUCK ME. NOW, PLEASE? Please?_ ”

There’s a delicious rocking that Jake does as they adjust and he hovers over Malik, like having his ass empty again is so unbearable he has to move to make up for it. And Malik won’t torture him much longer – not much. Not _too_ much. 

“ _Sshh_. Oh, _fuck_... oh my GOD. God, it’s tight...”

“ _Come on_ –”

“Tell me it doesn’t feel _sooo fuckin’ nice_ , though. Tell me and I’ll fuck it into you as hard as you want, baby, go ahead. Tell me you don’t love it.”

If he’s saying something, neither of them know what. It’s lost in the moan, somewhere in the rise and fall of their panting and sighing and grunting, a sea of sound in which only the occasional _please PLEASE oh please oh God_ is sprinkled. He barely needs to thrust up into Jake; he does all the work himself, riding and fisting his own cock until Malik grabs his wrists and ( _gently, always SO gently, soooo fucking soft_ ) holds them behind his back. He coaxes Jake to lean forward, til their cocks and bellies are in the constant heat of friction, and he bounces Jake on his lap.

There’s an immediate, violent response in Jake, whose muscles tense and he’s making sounds that Malik has only ever heard in his dreams. Borderline screaming, great gasps of breath that come back in jumbled syllables that neither of them understand anymore. Watching Jake in his lap was nice, but this is nicer. Hearing Jake’s ass slap back against his thighs and feeling how WET everything is, thumbing over the leaking head of his dick until he’s tearing up – _GOD, who knew he’d cry?_ – turns him into an animal. He manages to drag his tongue up the side of Jake’s face just to taste his sweat, to taste that delicate tear-track down his cheek. 

“ _Please let me_ – can... can I cum, can I _CUM, CAN I CUM? PLEASE?_ ”

Malik tilts his hips just so until Jake’s practically shrieking, and he knows he has it. He fucks into that swollen little spot with a slower, more purposeful stroke, and just like himself, Jake succumbs to the singing wave rushing through his belly and between his thighs. Fists bunching behind his back, secured there lovingly by Malik, he shoots all over their bellies. They watch together with their feverish eyes while his cum drips down Malik’s stomach, down each defined dip and valley, pooling in his navel before resting in the stubble of his pubic hair. Before Jake’s dick stops twitching, Malik’s cumming up inside of him, filling him up, and he frees his friend’s wrists before grabbing his hips to secure him as closely as he can. Balls deep, he empties them watching Jake attempt to catch his breath. He imagines pulling his shirt back down over the cum and letting it stay there, feeling it cool on his stomach and walking around with it. A disgusting secret, secret as the load buried deep inside of Jake. He imagines it leaking out of him throughout the afternoon. 

There’s a moment after the caught breaths, where the air around them comes back. The room comes back into focus. There’s furniture, there’s a show on the TV buzzing off in the background – had the volume been on the entire time? A shitty little fan sits on a side table and stirs the stale air, the smoky smell subsided to make room for the unmistakable scent of fuck. 

Jake lifts himself off on jelly legs, laughing at himself before he yanks his clothes back on. Malik follows suit, looking thoughtfully down at the mess on his abdomen before ultimately deciding to mop it up in the bathroom. Jake follows suit and there’s a tiny spark of disappointment thinking about most of him leaving Jake just as soon as it’s been spurt into him. Oh well. 

Jake comes out and they share a smile. It feels good. In his worst nightmares, Malik has imagined the shame, the embarrassment and awkwardness afterward, the creeping regret. None of it comes. Instead, Jake checks the time. 

“You hungry?”

“Protein shake not enough for you?”

Jake busts out laughing and slaps Malik on the arm, turning to snatch his wallet and turn off the TV. 

“Not even close. Ramen? Or...?”

“Ramen’s good.”

“Good, there’s a lunch special going on right now and I’m starving.”

“Let’s get it. After-fuck bowl first?”

There’s some kind of symbolism at play as they fill the room with smoke again. Smoke before, smoke during, smoke after. Covering everything within and letting nothing back out. Malik shakes it off and grabs his coat when they’re done, and only when they walk out the door does he feel he’s left it comfortably behind him. 


End file.
